Into the thinking kingdoms - Alan Dean Foster [14]
The herdsman barely nodded. “It was his choice, a burden he decided to take on himself. If we three were starving, he would eat first you and then me.”
“Under similar circumstances, I’d eat him, though I’m not very fond of cat. Too stringy. But this situation isn’t that situation.”
“He is an acquaintance. I like him. But not enough to risk my life and the failure of my journey to burrow into a den of thieves to rescue him. Maybe you do not understand, Simna, but he would.”
“Would he, now? Would that we could ask him that question to his flat, furry face. Stay if you must—I’m going after him.” The swordsman turned and stumbled, albeit gallantly, toward the doorway.
“What about your pledge to me?”
Simna peered back over his shoulder. “It will be fulfilled—after I’ve rescued Ahlitah.”
“You will fail.”
“Has that been written? Who are you to interpret the pages of Fate before they’ve been turned? Do you think no one is capable of heroics except in your company?”
“Look at you! You can barely walk.” Was that an inkling of hesitation in the herdsman’s voice? Simna continued to weave an uncertain path toward the door.
“I’m better with a sword falling down drunk than any three warriors stone-cold sober.” He paused at the dangling door, frowning. “Didn’t this used to have a knob?”
“It does not matter.” With a sigh, Ehomba moved to rejoin his companion. “Give it a push and it will most likely fall off that last hinge.”
“Oh.” Simna did so and was rewarded with a crash as the creaking barrier fell to the floor. “So maybe there are certain pages of Fate you can decipher.”
“Fate had nothing to do with it.” The herdsman strode past him. “Right now I can see straight and you cannot. Come on.”
“Right!” Simna ibn Sind drew himself up. “Uh—where are we going?”
“To try and free the cat, if he has indeed been taken by the venal bin Grue. I do not mind leaving him behind, and I do not mind leaving you behind, but if you get yourself killed on account of my reluctance, I would have to carry that with me forever. My soul bears enough encumbrances without having to pile your stupid death on top of them.”
“Ah, you don’t fool me, Etjole Ehomba.” A wide grin split the swordsman’s face. “You were just looking for an excuse, a rationalization, to go after the litah.”
The herdsman did not reply. He was already out the door and heading for the waterfront.
Despite his boasts of commercial achievement, or perhaps because of them, they were unable to find anyone who had heard of Haramos bin Grue. Repeated questioning of touts, travelers, seamen and servants, merchants and mongers produced blank stares, or bemused head shakes, or indifference. Sometimes the latter was mixed with contempt for the questioners. Ehomba’s simple garb and Simna’s unindentured status sank them beneath the notice of the city’s privileged and elite. Those who replied to their polite inquiries were usually not in a position to know, and those who might be often did not condescend to respond.
“This isn’t getting us anywhere.” Simna was still determined, but discouragement was settling into his voice like a bad cold.
“Maybe we are going about it wrong.” Ehomba was gazing out to sea, a distant look in his eyes as he stared unblinkingly at the southern horizon. A ship corrupted his vision and he blinked. “Perhaps instead of asking individuals on the street, we should seek out one who can look by other means.”
“A seer?” Simna eyed his friend uncertainly. “But aren’t you a seer, long bruther? Can’t you do the far-looking?”
“If I could, do you think I would be discussing the matter now? When will you accept, Simna, that I am nothing more than what I say?”
“When prodigious abnormalities stop occurring in your company. But I accept that you cannot seer.” The swordsman turned to drink in the surging mass of humanity and other creatures who filled the waterfront with unceasing activity. “If these insipid folk cannot tell